They taste sort of like Navy apples...
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
They taste sort of like Navy apples...
Part 30: The other sort of escort
- Location
- 'Murica
Part 30
Sammy B Roberts sat on the polished stone bench in the middle of the bath house and scuffed her bare feet against the slick tile. Her hands were shoved firmly into the pockets of her oversized Marine duty jacket as she stared at her own faint reflection.
Arizona was busy getting White settled in the docks, and she could hear her friends from Samar—the three indomitable Fletcher-class destroyers—rough housing with after-battle jitters as they showered off. But not her.
Sammy bit her lip, looking at the clock as she sat in the dressing room. She wasn't… like them.
In spite of her reputation, Sammy wasn't a fighting ship, she was an escort! She was built to scare away submarines and the odd aircraft. When Johnston and the others launched into battle, she just tagged along. She knew the outcome was doubtful, but… but she was going to do her duty.
She was an escort. An Escort never goes looking for trouble, lest she leave her charges undefended. An escort looks after her charges, she makes sure they're safe and comfortable.
Sammy sniffed, brushing a strand of salty hair out of her face as she glanced at the clock again. An escort looks after her charges, and there was still one ship left. Sammy couldn't rest until everyone was home safe.
"Uh," she slipped off the bench, her toes curling up against the chilly tile. "Uh, Miss Jersey?"
A pause. Sammy rocked on her heels, clasping her hands expectantly behind her back as she stared at the dressing room door. One Mississippi… two Mississippi… Hmm, Mississippi was at Leyte Gulf too, over at Surigao Straight. Sammy made a mental note to ask Jersey how that turned out.
Before the little destroyer escort could let her train of thought get any more derailed, the towering form of her flagship slumped though the door. "Hey, kiddo," mumbled Jersey, offering her a horribly weak smile.
"Hey, Skipper!" said Sammy, running over to offer herself as a make-shift support for the battleship. "What's that?" she asked, poking at the bundle of wadded up cloth clenched in Jersey's fist.
"Swimsuit," said Jersey, wincing as she threw her shoulders back, holding her head high as she walked to the shower room with as much grace as she could muster. "Kongou… she lent me one of hers."
"Oh," Sammy nodded. "Miss Naka, uh, gave me one too," she said, nuzzling closer to Jersey's charred thigh and holding onto her waist to keep the battleship upright.
"Uh… Kiddo?" Jersey managed a weak smile.
"'m helping," muttered Sammy, very gingerly stepping into the recessed shower area. She glanced back and forth from Jersey's feet to hers, carefully guiding the wounded battleship across the two-inch step.
Jersey shook her head, propping herself up against the tile with one hand so she could ruffle Sammy's hair with the other. "You really wanna help?"
Sammy nodded enthusiastically.
"Help me get these clothes off," said Jersey, gingerly setting herself down on a bench to unlace her shoes. "And not a word to Johnston."
"Mmhm!" said Sammy, darting over to help peel Jersey's tattered shirt off. It was easier than she'd expected, the puddles of dried blood and sticky black oil were really the only things keeping it on.
Jersey winced, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as the destroyer escort peeled her shirt back. The charred-black top-layer of her skin came with it, leaving bare flesh that was shiny and raw.
"Skipper?" Sammy let out a tiny moan. She hated seeing her skipper this badly wounded! Hated it!
"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," hissed Jersey, breathing though clenched teeth as the cool air kissed her bare skin. "Just keep going."
Sammy nodded, peeling the battleship's ruined shirt and vest the rest of the way off and tossing the charred clothing into the corner. She'd deal with it later. Jersey's shorts came next, but the fabric was so soaked-though with blood they practically disintegrated in Sammy's hands. And next… next was…
"Sammy?" Jersey glanced over, trying to see the little destroyer escort with her one good eye. "Why'd you stop."
"I… uh…" Sammy wrung her hands, "It's… I just have to take off your… uh…" she trailed off, giving Jersey a pitiful stare.
"You can say bra, Sammy," said Jersey, cracking a faint glimmer of a smile.
"Don't wanna."
"Just… just cut it off," said Jersey, "And then go start the shower, hmm?"
Sammy pursed her lips, staring transfixed at the battleship's muscular back. With all the charring—and most of her clothes—gone, Sammy could see just how toned her skipper was. Only the the navy-blue fabric of the woman's sports bra kept the battleship decent, and Sammy was supposed to just cut it off.
This felt wrong. So so so so wrong. "You… you sure, skipper?" she asked, nervously toying with the surgical scissors she'd grabbed from her medbay.
"Don't worry, kiddo," said Jersey.
"O… okay," Sammy slipped the scissors under the band of Jersey's bra. The battleship winced as cold steel touched her raw skin, but Sammy forced herself to soldier on.
Snip, snip, snip snip, she carefully cut along the battleship's spine, closing her eyes as she made the final cut. "Okay," she said, holding her hands out in front of her. "I will find… the shower."
Sammy shuffled to the side, running on nothing more than her compass and her memory of the room. Dead reckoning navigation, like the olden days. By her count, three more steps should take her to-
"Kiddo!"
Sammy felt her nose flatten against slick tile. "A wall!" she said, waving her hands around in search of a shower head.
"Sammy," Jersey's voice cracked into a pitifully weak laugh. "Kiddo… it's okay, I'm decent."
"Y-you are?" said Sammy, risking a brief glance over her shoulder.
Jersey smiled back, one arm held across her chest to cover her…self. Sammy couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, even hurt like this. Her skipper was the most beautiful-est battleship on the planet! "Just get the water going, hmm?"
"Mmhm!" Sammy flung the taps wide open with all her might, sending a deluge of hot salt water pouring from the polished chrome shower. Once she was content the water was the perfect level of warm, she darted back to her topless skipper, slipping a hand around her waist to help her over.
Jersey let out a sigh of pure pleasure as the salt water poured over her wounds and washed away the crust of dried blood and oil covering her body. "Oh… oh that feels so good," she said, smiling as water poured off her chin.
Sammy smiled, bouncing on her heels as she waited for her skipper to finish cleaning off. And then her face slipped into mortified horror when Jersey started scooching her hips side to side, slipping off her navy blue… Oh my…
—|—|—
A tiny squeal of surprise echoed though the docks, interrupting the taffies silent vigil over their wounded carrier friend.
Johnston was the first to react, her shoes squeaking against the poolside tile as she spun in place, "What was that?"
"What?" said Hoel.
"That noise," said Johnston.
"I think it came from the showers," added Heermann.
"It sounded like Sammy," said Hoel, scratching at her gun belt.
"Should we check?" asked Johnston.
"Arizona told us not to," said Hoel, "She said… she said we should give Jersey privacy."
"But what if Jersey needs help?" said Heermann.
"Sammy's with her," said Johnston, glancing back to the escort carrier sleeping in a bubbling hot tub. "Our place is here."
Hoel sighed, "Yeah… yeah it is."
"We're not leaving White," Heermann agreed.
—|—|—
Jersey panted as she slouched against the shower room wall. The swim top Kongou had lent her fit rather well—after she'd criss-crossed the straps to take up some of the slack. Normally, she might be a little miffed that Kongou—a battleship twenty-six-thousand tons her junior—filled out a swimsuit better than she did.
But today, she was just frustrated that the damn bottoms weren't fitting over her damn thighs.
"S-skipper, you sure you don't want me to help?" said Sammy, her face still resolutely buried in her hands.
"You still going to do it with your eyes closed?" said Jersey, wincing at the painful memory.
"Mmhm."
"Then no," said Jersey, biting her lip as she stared down the scant bit of red-trimmed white fabric. She was a damn battleship, oceans quaked when she spoke, and nations folded before her guns… she could out-think a damn swimsuit.
"Fuck it," she scowled, grabbing both sides and tugging with all her strength. The fabric dragged painfully across her raw skin, running the blockade of her legs and settling around her hips. "Being a girl is so much work."
"C-can I look now?" said Sammy.
"Yes… yes you can," said Jersey, tugging at her top to make certain she was decent enough for the destroyer escort.
Apparently she was. Sammy's face glowed with pride, and she smiled up at the battleship. "You look better already!" she said, skipping off towards the docks proper.
"Not so fast," said Jersey with a scowl, her exhausted gait little more than a shuffle as she followed. Her skin was still damp from her salt water shower, but the wounds were starting to smart again. Her wet footsteps were tinged a grimy pink as blood and oil slowly seeped from the worst of her wounds.
"Officer on deck!" barked… barked Johnston of all people. The destroyer was standing at rigid attention, her hand held up to her brow and her eyes slammed shut. "I… think."
The other two taffies and Sammy snapped to, holding their little chins high as Jersey slowly made her way to the bath. "Kids… you don't have to-"
"We want to," said Johnston.
"You earned it," said Heermann.
"Thanks, kiddos," said Jersey, sliding into the frothing water. She let out a long sigh as the sweet-smelling salt water caressed her wounds, soaking into down to her keel.
"Any time, Skipper," said Sammy.
"What she said," said Heermann.
"Now sleep well," said Hoel.
Johnston didn't say anything. She just bit her lip and gave Jersey a nod, her eyes very pointedly staying away from any… area that might be considered even remotely lewd.
White curled up next to the battleship, mumbling something in her sleep as she snuggled up tight.
Jersey closed her eyes, sleep taking her with a smile on her face.
...Jersey has a Harem Protagonist Aura, doesn't she? Then again, it affects anyone around her as well (giving them degrees of its power as well. Eg. Iku's crash-dive).
Also, those feelings.
Also, those feelings.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
I wonder if any of them will ever experience a instant repair bucket.
Jersey still has schrodingers wound which would become visible to the taffys and Ari as soon as she zonked out.
That is going to be the first thing she gets asked about by the taffys when she awakens.
That is going to be the first thing she gets asked about by the taffys when she awakens.
- Location
- 'Murica
Eh, only if they're really needed. I'm interpreting the Instant Repair bucket as something along the lines of what the USN did to Yorktown before Midway. It's a "Screw what the book says, screw procedures, get this ship in fighting shape now." option. It's not good for the shipgirls, but if you really need a girl in the fight right this second, it could save your fleet.
Yup! That's coming up next time. But this is more of a relax-and-unwind chapter.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Also, JMP, I need a title. If you can't come up with one, I'm gonna try and come up with something punny/lewd/both. Probably shower related. I'll have to sleep on it though.
QuietlyObserving
The Railgun That Walks Like a Bear
- Location
- Here.
Obligatory Shower Scene?
esseresse
R'lyth Power Make-up
- Location
- divorceville, state of depression
- Pronouns
- They/Her
"Escorts are not for lewding" - Margret Thatcher
still_guns
For the Empire!
- Location
- Bridge of ISS Conundrum
Ermmm. I don't wanna be the guy to derail that train (or sink that ship), but it is my opinion that White...
OKay, let's not use the harsh words I had in mind and instead say...
White could do with looking a LOT cuter... because she doesn't... work for me. I literally have an image of a short,somewhat chubby girl who reeks of kawaii, and that picture just... yeah.
Oh well, to each his own.
OKay, let's not use the harsh words I had in mind and instead say...
White could do with looking a LOT cuter... because she doesn't... work for me. I literally have an image of a short,somewhat chubby girl who reeks of kawaii, and that picture just... yeah.
Oh well, to each his own.
As described to me she's a scrappy fighter. The sort of kid that goes too hard in the playground. Scraped knees, bandaid on the nose and a big gun. Sure she's small and can do the big eyes things but somewhat chubby? That didn't fit for me with what I was given to work with. I couldn't get too much cute in and still get the scrappy fighter plays hard in.
The shield doesn't prevent it doing AA duty. Lots of the dual purpose turrets had shields. Some didn't but as far as references for 5" DP turrets go shields are the norm so I use it. Also going by KanColle pics I've yet to see them do a non shielded gun so again it fit better. Pictures of the boat are somewhat lacking since most pictures are of the bow and the turret is on the stern I think. It's easier to recognise as a ship turret like this and with carriers being pretty plain there were not a whole lot of ship style features I could add especially since she's towing her carrier deck.
Here's a pic of one of Whites many sister ships USNS Corregidor (T-CVU 58) circa 1956.
Source
And here's one of Enterprise, Pacific version
Her five inch guns do have a shield, just not the wrap around type yours have. It's more of a steel plate bolt on to the mount.
Source
And here's one of Enterprise, Pacific version
Her five inch guns do have a shield, just not the wrap around type yours have. It's more of a steel plate bolt on to the mount.
- Location
- 'Murica
I pictured her as being rather chubby. Not so much "fat" as small and adorable. She's the kinda girl who'll skid aaaaaal the way into home plate, across a gravel field in the middle of recess, ruin her skirt and skin her knees up, then happily bounce back to her feet and want to keep playing. I'll have to get off my butt and draw my girls sometime.
Most of my girls don't have the same obvious rigging at the canon-girls. It's been... kind of a tricky balance to strike, given that I'm rolling with the "shipgirls manifest their actual physical ship bodies" interpretation. The US girls are closer to the girl end of the spectrum. The taffies carry their quintuple torpedo tubes on their gunbelts, but that's all I've canonically stated regarding rigging.
White: Are those jets? Those look like jets, can I have jets? Please can I have jets! Please please please! *Destroyer eyes.*
Jersey: Hey, E. You do, uh.... you do understand the concept of a skirt, right?
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
Kinda like she's all fit, but still has that baby fat clinging to her? And I can see her doing that quite well. :3
Down girl. Maybe when you get older.
She's better off than Musashi. And at least wears undergaarments.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Hmm. You did do an excellent job on that escort run...we'll run the request by the admiralty and see what they say. Okay?
I couldn't make the chubby work mentally I did widen her hips a bit on the 3D model I posed but much more didn't work for me. Really active tries really hard goes all out and chubby. It's doable but I was pulling some of my inspiration from 1940s retro country schoolgirl and there is only so many pixels to get details in. That is of course where the artistic license comes in. Some of the features I put in there are there because they'll make a really cute gif however gifs take stupid amounts of time since every frame is an image.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
Those are Air Force jets, White, specifically F-86 Sabres. They look like they've been shrink-wrapped for transport — probably for disposal in a boneyard — and even if they weren't, those Chair Farce pukes never gave them the systems they needed to fly off a carrier. And in terms of actual combat capability, you'd probably do better with the Spads on the forward part of the flight-deck, rather than the F-86s amidships.
Old Iron writeup 4
- Location
- 'Murica
Another write-up courtesy of Old Iron!
( ･ω･)旦~~┏━┓
* * * * *
Arizona worked silently in the bathhouse awaiting the arrival of the convoy sent over from Everett. The relief team consisting of Mutsu and two destroyers, Teruzuki and Akizuki if she remembered correctly, had rendezvoused with the fleet some two days ago. After that it had been little more than a waiting game for everyone else on base. A rapid deployment battle-group had been assembled in the event something went afoul, but thankfully they had been blissfully bored out of their minds.
She had hung her greatcoat on one of the coat racks by the entryway as she carried out her orders from Admiral Richardson. Resting on a hook just next to it was her combo cover. There was little sense in doing cleaning and general busywork with her entire kit on, so she had smartly set them aside. And in accordance with what she had been advised of Japanese bathing customs, she had removed her shoes and left them by the rest of her accouterments. Socks included.
Richardson had passed down orders to the effect of ensuring that the bathhouse was well and ready for the returning fleet's shipgirl contingent and to then assist upon their arrival. A genuinely menial task, but a task handed to her regardless. And one of the things she had sworn to uphold to her utmost was the completion of her duties. Even if those duties included picking up scattered bathing implements. It would seem whomever used these facilities last did not do due diligence in cleaning up after themselves. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she knelt down to retrieve an errant hairbrush.
Arizona would need to have words with command about this.
As the copper haired battleship continued performing her tasks with a sort of methodical grace, she thought back to the past few days. For not more than four days ago, she had been little more than a rusting hulk at the bottom of Pearl Harbor.
Now? Now she was a flesh and blood human being. One with hair, eyes, hands, feet, and what have you. But at the same time... she was thirty thousand armored tons of American standard battleship. With twelve fourteen inch cannons and a not insignificant array of five inch guns to boot. She even had torpedoes.
Upon the eve of her summoning, she had experienced something for the first time that her crew and so many more did on a daily basis. She had partaken of a meal. And not just a serving of rations to be eaten on her own. No. She had dinner with her admiral and her superior officer in the mess hall amongst the cheering and revelry of the soldiers stationed on base. There had supposedly even been a good number of the base's assigned shipgirls present, but she could not for the life of her tell at the time.
There had been very little in the way of probing and informing, something she had been most thankful for given her abject confusion at the time, but rather she had mostly observed Mutsu and Admiral Richardson's back and forth while occasionally stealing a glance at the crowds.
All the while stuffing her face with dish after dish after dish.
Apparently the cooks had been given a heads up that if the summoning had been successful, they were to start prepping the most stereotypical All-American eats they could manage. Hamburgers stacked to the ceiling. Barbecue made in all manner of style. Hot dogs bearing toppings that spanned the country. Steaks and sandwiches. Fries, onion rings, and tater-tots. Milkshakes bearing whipped cream, sprinkles, and even the much sought-after cherry on top.
And the pie...
Arizona would certainly remember the pie most fondly. Hot pecan pie with a helping of vanilla ice cream.
Oh, she had done her best to eat with the poise and grace of a proper battleship. Demolishing every morsel of food before her with a true and genuine display of dignity. But it was sometimes difficult when you were still not entirely certain everything happening was real. Certainly not helping was when Mutsu had reached over to wipe a dollop of whipped cream from her face and then proceed to lick it clean off her finger. She had not appreciated either Mutsu's or Richardson's laughter at her reaction.
Mutsu had not stayed long after the festivities began winding down. The Japanese battleship needed to be underway for meeting up with the convoy and had departed with a smile, a wave, and yet another teasing remark. This one directed at the admiral. She hadn't quite gotten the reference, but apparently it was enough for Richardson to adopt a rather irate expression. It didn't last long and he had bid Mutsu safe travels before she slipped out the door.
As Arizona set about placing stacks of fresh towels in the appropriate receptacles, she held one of the smaller ones up and frowned. It reminded her somewhat of Mutsu's skirt. At least in what it could, or could not, conceal. That strip of cloth which attempted to pass itself off as a genuine article of clothing irritated her to no end. Had it been Mutsu's choice of casual or party-wear, Arizona would have paid it far less mind. She'd seen the short, revealing, and generally scandalous attire worn by the flappers of her era. She'd seen people wear far less even.
But Richardson had informed her the next day that such a shameless attire was no less than Mutsu's duty attire. Not a proper length skirt or slacks with jacket following the regulations of the JMSDF. No. Mutsu had decided that she would dress in a manner far more befitting a dancer or some sort of scarlet woman when she was on duty. Did she have no shame? No proper respect for her station or the fact she was a proud Japanese battleship representative of both ship class and her country? How not every single person with a set of functioning eyes had not seen what she wore for whatever might pass for undergarments was some sort of miracle.
Unfortunately for her hopes in regards to proper dress, Mutsu was not the only one to shirk regulations. If it wasn't something absolutely scandalous then it was something far more appropriate for a costume party. She granted a bit more leeway to the younger ships, but not much.
She'd been forced to tell herself that it was a different era, a different culture, and a very different sense of sensibilities.
Arizona could only pray that the inbound USS New Jersey dressed appropriately for her station. Both for propriety's sake and her own sensibilities. As one of the most powerful battleships ever produced by mankind and as an icon of American naval might, the second of the Iowa-class was held to a higher standard by the last Pennsylvania-class.
A horn sounded out from the comm on the wall and returned her train of thought back to her immediate duties.
"Arizona-san, Kongou-oneesama is on her way back! They'll be here in thirty minutes." Hiei's energetic voice filled the air. The excitement was palpable enough that Arizona would swear she could physically feel it through her uniform. The hyperactive fast battleship had enough energy at any given moment to rival an entire pack of destroyers. Even more-so if the topic at hand involved her elder sister, Kongou.
"I'm ready for them." Arizona stated after walking over to the intercom and pressing the transmit button. There was a short pause as she recalled something. "Lieutenant, where is Yeoman Jintsuu?" She could not wrap her head around how to properly pronounce either either the rank or position of her Japanese allies, so she was forced to settle for the english equivalent. The last time she attempted, she'd very nearly bit her tongue off. And she rather liked having that intact. Thank you very much.
"Ah, well... She's not feeling well. As in, really not feeling well." There was a slight sheepish tone to the fast battleship's voice. It soon vanished and was replaced by her usual bombastic self. "But she'll be just fine real soon. I'm going to make her some of my famous porridge and she'll perk right up!"
The line went dead before Arizona could open her mouth to reply. She offered up a silent prayer for Jintsuu's wellbeing. If Hiei hadn't made the poor girl ill to begin with, then she was certainly going to extend the recovery time.
Hiei, and her sisters from what she had gathered, were all... unique. That was the nicest way she could put it. Mad as a box of frogs was perhaps a better description, but she would hold off painting them with the same brush until she'd had a chance to meet them all. Hiei was a good girl though. Completely bonkers, but still a good girl. She could definitely use a bit more strictness in her life however. But her devotion to her sisters, Kongou in particular, was perhaps second to none so far as she could tell. Arizona could appreciate that sentiment. Perhaps if she ever had a chance to meet her own sister someday she might share in some of it as well. Within appropriate reason of course.
Surveying her handiwork, Arizona made certain nothing had been missed. And to her expectation not a single thing was out of place. She had also made ready the first aid kits just to be absolutely certain she had covered all her bases.
From the reports radioed in, Kongou's detachment had fared quite well. Scratches at best. However it was New Jersey's group she was more concerned about. The flagship had taken considerable damage to her superstructure to the point of having had a large portion of her secondary armament knocked out and her radar completely demolished. There was no lethal damage, but it was not insignificant either. Adding UNREP to that almost guaranteed the Iowa-class was going to be sailing in far worse for her wear. Even accounting for damage control.
USS White Plain would be another story altogether. No real damage, if any, from combat. However it sounded as though the escort carrier had pushed herself so far beyond her capabilities that she needed to be towed in. Damaged or outright wrecked machinery from stress rarely ever set well without a full examination and overhaul. She might compare it to someone attempting to run on a broken leg.
Perhaps the only silver lining to be had from the state of the convoy's combatants was that the destroyers had fared exceptionally and would need only a short stay in the baths, a hot meal, and good night's sleep to be back in tip-top shape.
Arizona set her jaw and went to retrieve her accouterments. The shoes and socks would be removed again soon, but she would not run around barefoot while she waited. It took only a few moments for her to be fully adorned once more.
She adjusted her combo cover in a mirror, making sure it sat just so and that the brass upon it retained its polished luster. Making a few last minute adjustments to her handkerchief were all she decided that remained before she walked into the foyer of the bathhouse to wait. If Hiei said thirty minutes out, then they were thirty minutes out. The girl had a knack for timing that contrasted sharply with her goofy antics. If it weren't for Richardson's temperament, Arizona ventured that Hiei might be serving as his Yeoman instead of Jintsuu.
Arizona took one glance at the clock on the wall and snapped to attention. Mulling about would be a waste of energy, so she had opted to simply exercise her patience and wait.
It had been twenty five minutes since Hiei's announcement, so she did not have to wait very long.
When the doors exploded inward, one of them barely hanging on by its hinges, Arizona got her first look at the American task force. She was dumbfounded to say the least. Albeit ludicrously well hidden.
These were United States Navy destroyers? They looked more like cruisers spoiling for a brawl than any destroyer she had ever seen. If it wasn't for the open worry and concern for the other two USN ships that had walked into the room, she would dare describe them as thuggish.
She trained her eyes on the tallest and most imposing member of the group and bit back a gasp.
To say that USS New Jersey looked bad was quite an understatement. The woman's clothes had been shot to shreds, exposing vicious looking wounds that dripped oil and blood onto the floor. Not to mention the poorly hidden fact that a fair portion of New Jersey's face was simply missing. No manner of sunglasses could hide that. She'd been stripped of her dignity and then had her superstructure brutalized. Arizona forced down her ire in favor of taking care of the far more important matters at hand.
USS White Plains was a third her displacement at best. But it still felt as though she was carrying something far smaller and far more vulnerable. It did not matter what sort of doom she could visit upon her foes. To Arizona, she simply appeared as an utterly exhausted and hurting child at the moment. The smile she gave to New Jersey the best she could muster at the moment. It was hardly her best overall, but she still had to offer some form of reassurance to the battleship that went beyond words.
As New Jersey staggered out of the bath house, she turned to face the destroyers who had all trained their eyes upon her and White Plains.
"This way." She began walking towards the bathing facilities proper, making certain not to jostle White Plains too much. "There are baskets to put your clothes in and Admiral Richardson has made certain to have swimsuits supplied as well. I'll show you more as we get settled in."
Arizona would ensure these girls were well taken care of. It was her duty and she would perform it to her utmost.
* * * * *
( ･ω･)旦~~┏━┓
* * * * *
Arizona worked silently in the bathhouse awaiting the arrival of the convoy sent over from Everett. The relief team consisting of Mutsu and two destroyers, Teruzuki and Akizuki if she remembered correctly, had rendezvoused with the fleet some two days ago. After that it had been little more than a waiting game for everyone else on base. A rapid deployment battle-group had been assembled in the event something went afoul, but thankfully they had been blissfully bored out of their minds.
She had hung her greatcoat on one of the coat racks by the entryway as she carried out her orders from Admiral Richardson. Resting on a hook just next to it was her combo cover. There was little sense in doing cleaning and general busywork with her entire kit on, so she had smartly set them aside. And in accordance with what she had been advised of Japanese bathing customs, she had removed her shoes and left them by the rest of her accouterments. Socks included.
Richardson had passed down orders to the effect of ensuring that the bathhouse was well and ready for the returning fleet's shipgirl contingent and to then assist upon their arrival. A genuinely menial task, but a task handed to her regardless. And one of the things she had sworn to uphold to her utmost was the completion of her duties. Even if those duties included picking up scattered bathing implements. It would seem whomever used these facilities last did not do due diligence in cleaning up after themselves. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she knelt down to retrieve an errant hairbrush.
Arizona would need to have words with command about this.
As the copper haired battleship continued performing her tasks with a sort of methodical grace, she thought back to the past few days. For not more than four days ago, she had been little more than a rusting hulk at the bottom of Pearl Harbor.
Now? Now she was a flesh and blood human being. One with hair, eyes, hands, feet, and what have you. But at the same time... she was thirty thousand armored tons of American standard battleship. With twelve fourteen inch cannons and a not insignificant array of five inch guns to boot. She even had torpedoes.
Upon the eve of her summoning, she had experienced something for the first time that her crew and so many more did on a daily basis. She had partaken of a meal. And not just a serving of rations to be eaten on her own. No. She had dinner with her admiral and her superior officer in the mess hall amongst the cheering and revelry of the soldiers stationed on base. There had supposedly even been a good number of the base's assigned shipgirls present, but she could not for the life of her tell at the time.
There had been very little in the way of probing and informing, something she had been most thankful for given her abject confusion at the time, but rather she had mostly observed Mutsu and Admiral Richardson's back and forth while occasionally stealing a glance at the crowds.
All the while stuffing her face with dish after dish after dish.
Apparently the cooks had been given a heads up that if the summoning had been successful, they were to start prepping the most stereotypical All-American eats they could manage. Hamburgers stacked to the ceiling. Barbecue made in all manner of style. Hot dogs bearing toppings that spanned the country. Steaks and sandwiches. Fries, onion rings, and tater-tots. Milkshakes bearing whipped cream, sprinkles, and even the much sought-after cherry on top.
And the pie...
Arizona would certainly remember the pie most fondly. Hot pecan pie with a helping of vanilla ice cream.
Oh, she had done her best to eat with the poise and grace of a proper battleship. Demolishing every morsel of food before her with a true and genuine display of dignity. But it was sometimes difficult when you were still not entirely certain everything happening was real. Certainly not helping was when Mutsu had reached over to wipe a dollop of whipped cream from her face and then proceed to lick it clean off her finger. She had not appreciated either Mutsu's or Richardson's laughter at her reaction.
Mutsu had not stayed long after the festivities began winding down. The Japanese battleship needed to be underway for meeting up with the convoy and had departed with a smile, a wave, and yet another teasing remark. This one directed at the admiral. She hadn't quite gotten the reference, but apparently it was enough for Richardson to adopt a rather irate expression. It didn't last long and he had bid Mutsu safe travels before she slipped out the door.
As Arizona set about placing stacks of fresh towels in the appropriate receptacles, she held one of the smaller ones up and frowned. It reminded her somewhat of Mutsu's skirt. At least in what it could, or could not, conceal. That strip of cloth which attempted to pass itself off as a genuine article of clothing irritated her to no end. Had it been Mutsu's choice of casual or party-wear, Arizona would have paid it far less mind. She'd seen the short, revealing, and generally scandalous attire worn by the flappers of her era. She'd seen people wear far less even.
But Richardson had informed her the next day that such a shameless attire was no less than Mutsu's duty attire. Not a proper length skirt or slacks with jacket following the regulations of the JMSDF. No. Mutsu had decided that she would dress in a manner far more befitting a dancer or some sort of scarlet woman when she was on duty. Did she have no shame? No proper respect for her station or the fact she was a proud Japanese battleship representative of both ship class and her country? How not every single person with a set of functioning eyes had not seen what she wore for whatever might pass for undergarments was some sort of miracle.
Unfortunately for her hopes in regards to proper dress, Mutsu was not the only one to shirk regulations. If it wasn't something absolutely scandalous then it was something far more appropriate for a costume party. She granted a bit more leeway to the younger ships, but not much.
She'd been forced to tell herself that it was a different era, a different culture, and a very different sense of sensibilities.
Arizona could only pray that the inbound USS New Jersey dressed appropriately for her station. Both for propriety's sake and her own sensibilities. As one of the most powerful battleships ever produced by mankind and as an icon of American naval might, the second of the Iowa-class was held to a higher standard by the last Pennsylvania-class.
A horn sounded out from the comm on the wall and returned her train of thought back to her immediate duties.
"Arizona-san, Kongou-oneesama is on her way back! They'll be here in thirty minutes." Hiei's energetic voice filled the air. The excitement was palpable enough that Arizona would swear she could physically feel it through her uniform. The hyperactive fast battleship had enough energy at any given moment to rival an entire pack of destroyers. Even more-so if the topic at hand involved her elder sister, Kongou.
"I'm ready for them." Arizona stated after walking over to the intercom and pressing the transmit button. There was a short pause as she recalled something. "Lieutenant, where is Yeoman Jintsuu?" She could not wrap her head around how to properly pronounce either either the rank or position of her Japanese allies, so she was forced to settle for the english equivalent. The last time she attempted, she'd very nearly bit her tongue off. And she rather liked having that intact. Thank you very much.
"Ah, well... She's not feeling well. As in, really not feeling well." There was a slight sheepish tone to the fast battleship's voice. It soon vanished and was replaced by her usual bombastic self. "But she'll be just fine real soon. I'm going to make her some of my famous porridge and she'll perk right up!"
The line went dead before Arizona could open her mouth to reply. She offered up a silent prayer for Jintsuu's wellbeing. If Hiei hadn't made the poor girl ill to begin with, then she was certainly going to extend the recovery time.
Hiei, and her sisters from what she had gathered, were all... unique. That was the nicest way she could put it. Mad as a box of frogs was perhaps a better description, but she would hold off painting them with the same brush until she'd had a chance to meet them all. Hiei was a good girl though. Completely bonkers, but still a good girl. She could definitely use a bit more strictness in her life however. But her devotion to her sisters, Kongou in particular, was perhaps second to none so far as she could tell. Arizona could appreciate that sentiment. Perhaps if she ever had a chance to meet her own sister someday she might share in some of it as well. Within appropriate reason of course.
Surveying her handiwork, Arizona made certain nothing had been missed. And to her expectation not a single thing was out of place. She had also made ready the first aid kits just to be absolutely certain she had covered all her bases.
From the reports radioed in, Kongou's detachment had fared quite well. Scratches at best. However it was New Jersey's group she was more concerned about. The flagship had taken considerable damage to her superstructure to the point of having had a large portion of her secondary armament knocked out and her radar completely demolished. There was no lethal damage, but it was not insignificant either. Adding UNREP to that almost guaranteed the Iowa-class was going to be sailing in far worse for her wear. Even accounting for damage control.
USS White Plain would be another story altogether. No real damage, if any, from combat. However it sounded as though the escort carrier had pushed herself so far beyond her capabilities that she needed to be towed in. Damaged or outright wrecked machinery from stress rarely ever set well without a full examination and overhaul. She might compare it to someone attempting to run on a broken leg.
Perhaps the only silver lining to be had from the state of the convoy's combatants was that the destroyers had fared exceptionally and would need only a short stay in the baths, a hot meal, and good night's sleep to be back in tip-top shape.
Arizona set her jaw and went to retrieve her accouterments. The shoes and socks would be removed again soon, but she would not run around barefoot while she waited. It took only a few moments for her to be fully adorned once more.
She adjusted her combo cover in a mirror, making sure it sat just so and that the brass upon it retained its polished luster. Making a few last minute adjustments to her handkerchief were all she decided that remained before she walked into the foyer of the bathhouse to wait. If Hiei said thirty minutes out, then they were thirty minutes out. The girl had a knack for timing that contrasted sharply with her goofy antics. If it weren't for Richardson's temperament, Arizona ventured that Hiei might be serving as his Yeoman instead of Jintsuu.
Arizona took one glance at the clock on the wall and snapped to attention. Mulling about would be a waste of energy, so she had opted to simply exercise her patience and wait.
It had been twenty five minutes since Hiei's announcement, so she did not have to wait very long.
When the doors exploded inward, one of them barely hanging on by its hinges, Arizona got her first look at the American task force. She was dumbfounded to say the least. Albeit ludicrously well hidden.
These were United States Navy destroyers? They looked more like cruisers spoiling for a brawl than any destroyer she had ever seen. If it wasn't for the open worry and concern for the other two USN ships that had walked into the room, she would dare describe them as thuggish.
She trained her eyes on the tallest and most imposing member of the group and bit back a gasp.
To say that USS New Jersey looked bad was quite an understatement. The woman's clothes had been shot to shreds, exposing vicious looking wounds that dripped oil and blood onto the floor. Not to mention the poorly hidden fact that a fair portion of New Jersey's face was simply missing. No manner of sunglasses could hide that. She'd been stripped of her dignity and then had her superstructure brutalized. Arizona forced down her ire in favor of taking care of the far more important matters at hand.
USS White Plains was a third her displacement at best. But it still felt as though she was carrying something far smaller and far more vulnerable. It did not matter what sort of doom she could visit upon her foes. To Arizona, she simply appeared as an utterly exhausted and hurting child at the moment. The smile she gave to New Jersey the best she could muster at the moment. It was hardly her best overall, but she still had to offer some form of reassurance to the battleship that went beyond words.
As New Jersey staggered out of the bath house, she turned to face the destroyers who had all trained their eyes upon her and White Plains.
"This way." She began walking towards the bathing facilities proper, making certain not to jostle White Plains too much. "There are baskets to put your clothes in and Admiral Richardson has made certain to have swimsuits supplied as well. I'll show you more as we get settled in."
Arizona would ensure these girls were well taken care of. It was her duty and she would perform it to her utmost.
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